


when angry, count to 4 (when very angry, swear)

by bleedcolor



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Edward Elric Swears, M/M, Roy is a victim of Ed's mouth, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trisha Elric probably regrets some things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedcolor/pseuds/bleedcolor
Summary: The polite way to introduce yourself to a stranger is by giving them your full name.  Edward Elric has never been polite.





	when angry, count to 4 (when very angry, swear)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written and originally posted [here](http://bleedcolor.tumblr.com/post/170629076148/ammo121-ok-lets-be-real-if-the-first-thing-you) on tumblr, in response to [this post](http://ammo121.tumblr.com/post/169321662127/ok-lets-be-real-if-the-first-thing-you-said-to):
> 
>  
> 
> _Ok lets be real, if ‘the first thing you said to your soulmate is tattooed on your skin’ was real then greeting people with your full name would just be the thing that everyone did so that it would be easier to find your other half. Except that one time when your having a bad day and some idiot spills coffee all over your laptop and you spend a solid five minutes swearing at them and then they pull up their sleaves and there is your whole rant laid before you and you give a final ‘shit’._
> 
>  
> 
> It's been about 3,000 years since I wrote anything for the FMA fandom and this is short and kinda weird, but I had fun. I hope you enjoy it, dear reader <3

When Edward Elric is brought into the world, all 6 pounds 11.8 ounces of him, covered in blood and screaming his rage to everyone within earshot, his mother can’t recall ever being happier.  The last 16 hours have been the most exhausting that Trisha has ever endured up to this point in her life, but 10 perfectly formed fingers and toes make up for all of it.   

When she finds the pink rosebud shaped smudge on his tiny wrist, her pleasure only grows.  She’s only been a mother for an hour and she can’t imagine that her son will have anything but a life full of love, can’t imagine that anyone else in this world wouldn’t throw their love at his feet the way she has and will continue to for as long as she draws breath.  She can’t imagine it, but she’s not naive enough to think that it’s true.

The mark, however, is a promise from the universe.  Somewhere there is a person who will love her son, hold him to them like he is the other half of their very being, like they cannot live without breathing the same air he breathes, and their existence is written onto Edward’s very being.  He will grow and the letters will unfold over his skin and her son will know what love is.  It’s the best thing a mother could hope for, that her child will know happiness.

When Edward is ten and the words finally bloom fully down the length of his wrist, they are something of an oddity. “ _Oh. Now it makes sense_ ,” the words read coyly, the lettering neat and even, and Trisha frets.  Introductions have consisted of full names since the dark ages, when soulmarks were widely ignored in favor of political marriages or marriages of status.  Even then it had made good sense to identify yourself first, to avoid confusion and searching in the hope that you might find your soulmate or avoid them, if you were already promised to someone else.  

Still, accidents are unavoidable she reminds herself. A person can’t introduce themselves to every stranger on the subway that they squeeze past to get to a seat. It just isn’t feasible.  And it wasn’t as if Edward’s mark read anything as vague as “Excuse me,” or “Sorry.”  He doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of name on his arm, in any case, just rubs the tip of his finger along the words with a narrow, thoughtful look at breakfast before he drags his brother outside to continue trying to master something called ‘alkahestry’ and leaving her to wonder.

She imagines that her son’s soulmate must have a fairly identifying mark, given Ed’s irrepressible urge to offer unsolicited advice on everything from mathematics and chemistry to the proper way stew should taste.  The school has already sent home several letters this year and they were going to have to convert the garage into lab space, after that last minor explosion. Her son is going to change the world.

When he is 24, Edward Elric has the worst day of his life.

It’s the average bad day to begin with: oversleeping, realizing he forgot to do laundry and that he hasn’t had time to go grocery shopping so there’s nothing in his apartment that’s even remotely edible.  It goes downhill from there.  His car’s battery has died, so he tries to make the bus.  He gets to the stop on time, but the bus he wants to take is apparently early for once and so he waits for next bus which, of course, is late.  By the time Ed finally makes it to campus he’s over an hour late for his meeting with Dr. Curtis.  Unsurprisingly, she’s now unavailable, but she’s helpfully left his proposal with her TA so that he can look over her feedback.  Her feedback is a giant red ‘X’ marked over his pages and a ‘NO!’ scrawled at the very top above his heading.

Ed can feel the migraine growing behind his eyelids and decides that if he wants to accomplish anything at all for the day, he needs coffee and lunch, maybe not in that order.  His favorite deli serves both and is only a short walk from campus, so he heads in that direction, arriving to find himself in the middle of the bustling lunch rush.  Unwilling to give up on the prospect of sustenance, when it’s so close at hand, Ed decides to order and then find somewhere else to enjoy his food, because the weather outside is pleasant enough, even if nothing else has been.

He finds a bit of _good_ luck, however, for the first time that day when a small, two-person table opens up just after he orders.  It’s in the center of the dining area, and isn’t what he’d normally choose, surrounded on all sides by noise and moving bodies, but he slides into one of the empty seats before anyone else can.  He wouldn’t mind eating outside, but if he stays here he can eat sooner and get a little work done, which might help make up for the relentless shittiness of his morning.

He’s one sandwich, two coffee refills, and four paragraphs into a new thesis proposal when it happens. Dr. Curtis had messaged him halfway through his sandwich and agreed to meet with him again at two, so he’s been typing furiously, trying to reword his proposal so that she’ll accept it.  He knows his idea is solid, he just has to convince her that he can do it.  And then his little table is suddenly jostled two inches to the left and he jumps to his feet in surprise as coffee is streaming over the keys of his laptop which, with a popping blue spark, goes abruptly dark.

The thing is, Ed knows it was an accident.  He had seen, from the corner of his eye, the two men as they’d moved past, joking and chatting amicably with one another, had watched the one with glasses hip-check his friend.  He understands that the series of unfortunate events that brought his laptop to its dire end were not born out of malice.  If questioned, he would even be willing to admit that it could have been much worse.  His work had been saved automatically to his online drive, his fingers had been nowhere near the electric snap of death, and, honestly, the laptop had been on its last legs anyway.  Ed had started making plans for his tax return and researching possible replacements a couple of weeks ago.  His brain knows all of this.

Edward’s _mouth_ , however, is not content to sit idly by, his mouth has had enough of this _fucking day_ , and, so, his _mouth_ takes over.

“What the actual _fuck_ , you goddamn fucking _bastard_ _son of a bitch_ asshole shit-fucking cock-rocket _whore_ ,” his mouth snarls, as he drags his gaze away from the steaming mess of his laptop to meet the shocked, wide-eyed gaze of its destroyer.  Behind him, the friend that had bumped him into Ed’s table is equally shocked, though it’s rapidly melting into an oddly gleeful expression.  Too late, Ed realizes that the deli itself has become abruptly quiet and he has that odd feeling in the back of his throat that he gets whenever he raises his voice without quite meaning to.

“Oh. Now it makes sense,” says the surprisingly deep voice of the murderer, and Ed can feel the blood drain from his face.  Those words have been in his mind every time he’s met someone new for the last fourteen years.

Involuntarily, his gaze drops to the man’s arm, covered by neatly pressed shirt sleeves.  A long-fingered hand obliges his thoughts, deftly unbuttons the cuff and rolls it up to mid-forearm.  Ed looks at the words that mar the pale flesh of that wrist, reads his spiky handwriting to where it disappears beneath the shirt sleeve once more. _What the actual_ fuck, _you goddamn fu_ \-- His stomach twists unpleasantly.  

The previous unpleasantness of his day is suddenly minuscule in the shadow of what he’s just done, dwarfed by the sudden and sure knowledge that his soulmate is about to turn and run in the opposite direction of him for as long and far as possible.  He’ll have to call his mother and explain to her that he has finally met his soulmate, but he’s such a horrendous fuck-up that this person will never want anything to do with him.  There’s only one thing to do.

Edward’s mouth opens.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers. The word is filled with the horror and embarrassment of this moment and he is certain he will never recover from it.

His soulmate’s friend makes a choked sound and finally gives in to the guffaw of laughter he’s been holding back.  Ed spares a vague hope that he chokes on his tongue, because it’s _not_ _funny_ , damn it, but he can’t bring himself to pull his attention away from his soulmate.  His brain points out optimistically that he hasn’t started running yet. Ed clears his throat, wants to say something, but everything that comes out of his mouth is _horrible_.  

His soulmate smiles, holds out his hand.  “Roy Mustang.”

Ed’s knees feel weak with relief as he takes the hand. “Edward Elric.”

When Edward is 24 he brings his soulmate home to have dinner with his family.  Trisha can see all the things she wished for her son in Roy Mustang, and more.  He’s handsome, charming, and looks at Edward like he hung the sun and moon in the sky.  The fact that he offers to help her with the dishes after the meal certainly doesn't hurt her opinion of him. If she takes the opportunity to look at his soulmark, when he rolls up his sleeves and plunges his hands into the dishwater, well, she's always been curious about what her son’s first words to his soulmate were.

And when Edward Elric is 24 years old his mother washes his mouth out with soap.

 


End file.
